


A Tergo Lupi

by DataWolf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arcane Punk Setting, As in the canon is a dear friend that comes to visit sometimes, But with magic and elves and the like, Canon Friendly, Crust Punk Anders, F/M, Idk what else to tell you really, M/M, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Squatter Fenris, Trans Character, Trans Hawke, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DataWolf/pseuds/DataWolf
Summary: After a year of work at the Blooming Rose to pay for his grieving family's place in the slums of Kirkwall, Hawke is finally free to start building a life with his remaining family as an honest man. Only, with Kirkwall in political turmoil, honest work is scant for refugees and misfits.





	1. Garrett

**Author's Note:**

> Long time reader, first time writer.  
> I also don't have a beta, so any constructive criticism is more than welcomed!

Leaves crunched under boot as Garrett hurried down the street lamp lit avenue. The first rays of sun had begun to color the horizon a pale pink, but the alleys that led him home sat under the shadow of Hightown. Crossing his arms over his chest did little to ward off the chill that had found it’s way into the early mornings, but the return of this weather was a nice reminder that his year at the Blooming Rose was almost over and his family's debt wiped clean. 

It’d felt just like this on the cramped bus ride to Kirkwall. A chill on the wind that slipped through the cracks in windows and straight through his clothing; a spark of anxiety in the back of his mind at the uncertainty of his family's future, mostly muffled by a relief to see this chapter of his life come to a close. The metal he’d rested his head against had been so cold, Carver’s lifeless eyes so devoid of warmth.

Garrett shook his head to dislodge the memories and stomped up the stairs to his uncle’s flat. Closing the door softly behind him, he found Leandra already up and tending to the dishes in the sink. 

“Morning Mother.”

She looked up and smiled a greeting. “There are some oat cakes on the counter if you’re hungry.” She didn’t miss his quick glance down the hall, adding, “She was up helping with breakfast earlier. Think I even heard her working with her magic before she went back to bed.”

Garrett nodded and felt his posture relax a degree. Bad days were few and far between now, but the memory of them were all too fresh. Days on end of Bethany lying catatonic in bed, unable to deal with the grief of losing her twin. He wasn’t home for most of the nights, but each morning he greeted a shaken looking Leandra with bags under her eyes he knew the night terrors had visited Bethany again. He had wanted so badly to help her, but she’d been unable to open up. So he’d turned down Athenril, and Meeren, who’d seen his sister as an apostate to be manipulated. The last thing she needed was more violence. Instead, he worked his ass off, pun intended, at the Blooming Rose. _Which is a relatively safe job that affords me tips on top of paying off the debt_ , he reprimanded himself.

He grabbed an oat cake and thanked Leandra on the way to his bed roll. Initially, he had shared the second bedroom with Leandra and Bethany, but given his work schedule he’d taken to sleeping in an alcove that looked as if it had been intended as a laundry closet. He closed the folding door behind him and wriggled unceremoniously out of his clothes, finding sleep moments after slipping into his sleeping bag.

 

To say the days until his freedom flew by would be a gross exaggeration. He slept through the bulk of the daylight hours but, knowing their time was short, the Blooming Rose had booked extra clients every night for the past week. He’d seen clients ranging from average johns to templars, and even the Viscount’s seneschal in the past few nights. Some of them liked to talk before, even during on occasion, and it seemed to Garrett that despite the cool evenings the temperature at the heart of the city was rising. The Lowton Johns were angry that Fereldens had “ruined the job market”. The seneschal was fucking off frustration about the Qunari in the docks. The templars were even stressed enough to outlast their typical two minute tug. 

From one of his regulars, Keran, he’d gleaned that the turmoil in the Templar order was coming not genuinely from struggles with mages, but higher up in their ranks. Though he still bragged about his encounters with mages to Garrett, only to refer to him as an apostate in bed. It was occasionally a feat of restraint to not spit their seed back in their face when they talked about the abuses of mages in one breath and fetishized magic in the next, but being friendly with templars and knowing some of their secrets, being one of their secrets even, had it’s uses when his sister was an apostate.

He pulled up the Rose’s booking board on his burner phone and groaned at his schedule, but the expression was as empty as it was dramatic. He could make it through one more night; the extra tips from being overbooked would carry him over until he could find more work anyway. He squirmed into tight jeans, slid his boot knives into place, and fastened a leather harness over his binder so he wouldn’t have to change when he got to the hotel, pulling a jacket on and zipping it up to cover his attire before leaving the flat.

He reached the Blooming Rose with time to spare before his first client and stopped by the bar, taking a seat in the corner where he could nurse a whiskey and ginger in relative privacy before summoning his sultry facade. Sliding out of his jacket, he leaned forward in his chair to rest against an elbow propped up on the bar. The whisky went down strong and warmth spread through his chest as he watched some human interest story on the television above the bar about a templar who’d saved a mage from an accidental magic fire. He heard a rustle of fabric as someone slid into the seat next to him. He glanced over to see a familiar mischievous smile, accented by the gold stud set against dark skin beneath a full bottom lip. “Isabela,” he almost laughed, “Can I assume my first client isn’t actually named Seaman Stain then?”

Her expression moved gracefully into a pout that appeared somehow still devious. “I thought if I told them I was Captain Stain, the Madam would charge me more,” a perfect smile, all teeth and symmetry, as she took his free hand and moved it to her lap, “And then I couldn’t have invested in this gram of stamina.” He could feel the small baggy of powder in her pocket.

He downed his whisky and glanced over his shoulder. The drug use rule was one of the most commonly broken ones, but considering the number of knight guardsmen he’d seen in the Blooming Rose, he liked to be careful. He looked back at Isabela and tilted his head towards the stairs. She smiled and took his hand to lead him to the rooms.

“Pure deep mushroom spores from the bone pit,” he heard her say, as the pale yellow dust hit his system. His nostrils burned and the back of his throat tasted like soil, but energy was coursing through his skin. Everywhere her body moved against his felt alive. Her lips were soft and her tongue tasted sharp and bitter. He grabbed her hips and pulled them in to him before making a half hearted attempt to pull her underneath him, earning a nip to the bottom lip for his transgression. She would never let him take top, but he knew she liked the struggle, and they fucked with the energy of a predator closing on prey. 

It seemed a blur afterwards, as he watched her reapply her make up in the vanity mirror. “The madam said you were leaving,” She was touching up her eye make-up, but glanced at him through the reflection as she spoke. He nodded. “Shame. I’ll miss this, but if you ever want a drink, you’ve got one on me at the Hanged Man.”

“I may just take you up on that,” he admitted. Tired as he was of the job, Isabela was one of the few customers he’d miss. Then, with some drug fueled sentiment, he added a “Stay safe, Isabela.”

“I’ll stick to staying fun, but thanks anyway,” she winked at him and left him to tidy up his room and change out the sheets for the next customer.

The next two clients went off without a hitch, despite one being Guardsman Donnic. He was sure his profuse sweating would give away his illicit inebriate use. He willed his pupils to constrict as he looked up through dark eyelashes to make eye contact with the knight guardsman while he worked him over. Whether or not it was to avail he couldn't be sure, but Donnic came for him all the same and left without saying a word. Garrett was fine with that considering the tip he left. The ones that felt guilty tended to tip really well. 

His last client of the night showed up late, as the effects of the deep mushroom were leaving his body. His muscles felt tense and his head was starting to pound. He wanted a drink. Or a shower. Both at the same time sounded heavenly. 

The John was barely through the door before he grabbed Garrett and tried to kiss him. Garrett's now sensitive nose wrinkled reflexively; he reeked of alcohol. Garrett put his hands on the man’s chest and stroked seductively, applying just enough pressure to keep an inch or two of distance between himself and the larger man. 

“Hey, sug, there’s no rush. We’ve got all night,“ Garrett purred, “Why don’t you put the money on the table and relax. Let me take care of you.”

The Marcher ignored the suggestion and walked Garrett back to the wall, one hand moving up to pin his shoulder to the wall and the other wandering down to his jeans. “Hey,” Garrett objected, startled out of his facade, “I don’t know if you know how this works, but money first-”

The larger man’s hand shot to Garrett's throat, gripping with a force that stopped his words in his throat with a gurgle. He leaned in until his forehead was almost against Garrett’s and the scent of stale alcohol became nauseating, “I spent all my money at the bar waiting on you,” the man was slurring his words and Garrett was having a hard time drawing a decent breath, “I’m not about to pay for some Ferelden dog in heat-”

A satisfying _crack_ and pain ricocheted through Garrett’s skull. The dog slurs had gotten old the first time he heard them. He pulled his head back and headbutted the stunned Marcher again, landing this one square in the nose. The man stumbled back and Garrett fell on top of him, fists swinging. The commotion alerted security and they were through the door in seconds, pulling Garrett off and dragging the John out of the room.

Garrett stumbled to his feet and ran into the bathroom where he emptied his stomach into the toilet. His throat burned as his stomach rejected another batch of gastric contents. Once he was sure he was done pulling up stomach bile, he leaned back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall and opted to remain there for a while. The incessant spinning of his surroundings slowed down and soon ceased and his senses started to clear up. He cracked an eye to see Jethann standing in the door of the bathroom.

“I told them he was trouble when he came up here, went ahead and asked the guards to stand outside your room,” Jethann put his hands on his hips, “Someone has to have some foresight around here. You alright, kid?”

Garrett groaned. “Yeah, thanks Jethann,” he accepted the hand offered to him and rose to his feet.

“No worries. I’d say you were going out with a bang, but you did about the opposite.” Jethann laughed at his own joke, but his expression grew serious. “It’s probably a good thing this happened after the madam stepped out for the night. You might want to get cleaned up and head out of here.”

Garrett nodded, “I know. Thanks again, Jethann. Can’t say I’ll miss this place, but you were one of the ones that made it tolerable.”

“Oh, you sap,” Jethann clapped him on the shoulder and Garrett tried not to grimace as his head throbbed. “Come back and visit me sometime, yeah? We can have a drink at the bar. If you come with some coin, you can even visit me up in the rooms.” The elf winked at him, extending his arm to grasp Garrett’s forearm in a gesture of respect before taking his leave to return to his own customers.

Garrett washed up in the sink and gathered his things, giving his room a cursory sweep before leaving the Blooming Rose for what he hoped was the last time. He barely even registered the cold as he stepped out into freedom and headed in the direction of home.

He veered off his normal path as he entered Lowtown. After puking and washing up he felt much better, but the urge to grab a drink remained and the Hanged Man seemed as promising a place as any.

The lights and sounds hit him as soon as he stepped into the Lowtown bar, a welcome contrast to the dim silence that pervaded the early morning outside. Just a few hours before sunrise and the tavern was still lively with drunken patrons. Garrett took a seat at the bar, ordering a local beer from the familiar face behind the bar.

“How goes it, Corff?” Garrett asked after taking a satisfying draught. “Anything interesting tonight?”

“Oh, I’m well. From what I hear, more interesting things going on around your stomping grounds tonight though,” Corff reached for a rag and started cleaning the counter adjacent to Garrett. “Sounded like they were talking about you, glad to see you’re fine.”

Garrett set his pint glass down slowly, “Who did you hear that from?”

Corff pointed to the far corner, “He’s still here. That guy over there.” 

Garrett followed his finger. The unruly client he’d seen barely an hour before was slumped over a beer at a table next to the stairs. Fortunately, he was facing away from the bar. The two men drinking with him were not. 

Garrett fumbled for his wallet as he rose from his bar stool. “I’m suddenly not feeling so much like drinking Corff, I’m sorry.” He fished out a couple bills to cover his tab and a tip, and hurried out of the bar, not glancing back to see Corff’s puzzled expression.

He moved quickly once the door shut behind him, but it wasn’t quick enough. He’d barely made it a few paces before he heard the door bang shut again. He turned on heel and ducked just in time to miss a fist intended for his face. Garrett took advantage of the Marcher’s lost balance and brought his elbow down on his back with his body weight behind it. 

Too drunk to react, the man’s head hit concrete and stilled, but his friends seemed much less impaired and much more armed. A sword came down in an extravagant, wide arch that gave Garrett time to leap back. He crouched and unsheathed his over sized boot knives, bringing them up crossed to clash with the sword as it came at his side in another gaudy, over reaching arch. 

_His sword is obviously just compensating for something_ , Garrett noted, to his advantage. He feinted at the man’s face and quickly rebounded to jab a dagger into the man’s hip. He pivoted around the man and stuck his other dagger in the base of his neck, hearing his life leave in a wet gasp. He managed to retrieve the first dagger and turn in time for a studded leather gauntlet to collide with his face.

Stars burst into his vision and he stumbled back. The last of the Marcher’s friends grabbed him and drove another armored fist into Garrett’s stomach, doubling him over. The man kicked a knee up in between Garrett’s legs, but Garrett regained sense in time to close his thighs around the larger man’s, dropping his own body weight with a twist that brought the Marcher down with him. Scrabbling on the ground, he lashed out with his dagger twice before getting past the other’s flailing defense and driving the blade up through the bottom of his jaw. 

He left the dagger buried in flesh and rolled back, panting for breath. Cold air burned his lungs and his face throbbed. He swiped at an itching sensation under his eye, and his hand came back wet with blood. He sighed once his breathing returned to normal and slid out from under the lifeless body to collect his daggers. Wiping them off on his jeans, he sheathed them and looked back at the illuminated bar. 

 

“I’ll take another beer, and a shot of whisky,” Garrett monotoned, dropping his body onto the bar stool.

Corff’s eyebrows moved upward and took up residence somewhere near his hairline. “You..uh, you’ve got some...on your face, serah.” He gestured vaguely towards his own face in attempt to elaborate.

“What?” Garrett looked up at him with a dead expression. 

Corff shook his head and set a new pint glass and a shot down in front of Garrett before stepping away to wipe down tables. Garrett put the shot back and glanced over at one of the decorative mirrors set into the wall. A thick line of bright red blood ran from one cheek bone to the other across his nose where he’d wiped his face. He blinked at his reflection several times before failing to muster up enough concern to do anything about it and returning to his beer. If people were going to talk, they were going to talk, and Garrett was going to sit here and welcome in his first day freshly unemployed with a enough beer to ensure he didn’t remember it.


	2. Bethany

Bethany pressed her fingers into the soft, warm sand until she felt the gritty, damp layer underneath. She pushed the sand aside, exposing the root system of the flowering elfroot. The mild earthy smell mixed with the sea breeze and Bethany inhaled deeply. Being outside, having a goal again- however mundane- was bringing her much satisfaction. She clipped as many of the branch roots as she thought the plant could survive without and tucked them away in her pouch, pushing the sand back before rising to her feet. Garrett, she had noted periodically, did not share her contentment. 

“We just need a bit more spindleweed and we’ll have enough,” she called after watching Garrett flop dramatically on his back in the sandy dune.

“I have so much glitterdust in my pack,” he whined. “I could drown myself in glitterdust. Is that what you want?”

Bethany rolled her eyes and skimmed the coast for another spindleweed plant.

“For me to die as I lived-” He continued to complain from his sandy throes of despair, “Sparklingly fabulous and...itchy?” 

Spotting the reddish plant at the water’s edge she slipped out her cloth shoes and stepped over to it. The frigid sea nipped at her toes in slow, languid waves. She took several nodes off the plant and tucked them in next to the elfroot before slipping back into her shoes and approaching her older brother. She extended her hand to him, “Done. Would you care to accompany me to Hightown, or is that just too gruelling a task for you?” 

He had the decency to look sheepish as he took her hand and hopped up from the dune.

 

He was still complaining by the time they reached Hightown. “I could make potions with these ingredients and sell them for twice as much as these apothecaries are giving us.”

She stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms across her chest. “Then do it.”

Garrett glanced back, mouth open and ready to fire off a retort, before taking in her set expression. It was a bluff, of course. Garrett was unlicensed to sell potions and she’d never want him to try and peddle in Darktown, but his complaining was getting them nowhere and beginning to dampen her spirits. She held his gaze and allowed her frown to deepen, waiting for the concession. It came as expected.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” he sighed. “It’s just, we’ve been tromping around the greater Kirkwall area for the better part of a week picking flowers and pretty rocks and the return is so minimal,” he trailed off and sighed again, “I don’t want to live with Gamlen anymore, I know you don’t want to live with Gamlen anymore. Mother’s stuck at the house with him, and this isn’t bringing in enough money.”

She let her arms drop, but kept her expression hard. They’d called everywhere they could think of, but no one would hire them with their Ferelden accents unless they were willing to take on questionable employment, like high turnover mining jobs with pay not much better than their current income. The few odd jobs they’d managed to pick up had come from scouring the Kirkwall forum boards for individuals just looking for a hand with a particular task. They had found a particularly interesting thread on an urban exploration forum, asking for accompaniment on a trip into some long forgotten Deep Roads. Garrett had shot down the idea immediately, saying the risk was too high. 

Bethany broke eye contact to glance about for oncoming traffic before crossing the road and turning towards the apothecary. “There is another option,” she started, only continuing once Garrett fell in step with her and looked over expectantly, “we can sign on to that expedition.”

“No,” Garrett responded immediately, “No maker damned way. The Deep Roads are way too dangerous.”

“You’ve never even been in the Deep Roads,” she shot back, _and my magic has progressed passed what even Father was teaching me_. She couldn’t bring herself to give voice to the thought though. Not after months of uselessness. Not after all the training and knowledge that would forever be her final gift from Father had been squandered when it truly mattered. Guilt crept at the edge of her mind and she pushed it back.

“No, but we do know what comes from the Deep Roads and those things were dangerous,” Garrett snapped.

The sudden flash of Carver moving like a rag doll through the air sliced through Bethany’s thoughts and she let the topic drop, eyes cast downward as they entered the small potions shop. 

The shopkeeper presented them with only half the pay promised, and Garrett argued with him until he was red in the face. She watched the sun set outside and an impressive vein rise on the shopkeep’s brow before an agreement was reached. In the end, they got their full pay and the promise of no more work, from this shop or any of the others in Hightown.

It was a quiet walk home for the majority of the distance as Garrett fumed, somehow navigating the dark streets with his eyes glued firmly to his boots. So focused she was on her brother’s misery, so focused Garrett was on his own, that they didn’t hear the gang of people until they turned to corner and almost ran into them.

“Well well, what’s this then?”

She and Garrett both jumped, his arm extending out in front of her protectively. She took a few steps back, Garrett following in suit. She scanned the small group of Marchers gathered around a young boy. The boy was almost tall enough to be a man grown, but he was very visibly shaking with a duffel bag clutched tightly to his chest. Most of the men were armed. All of them were large. The one who had spoken was smiling, but it was none too comforting. The sound of multiple blades being unsheathed and an arrow being notched sent a chill down her spine. 

“We don’t want any trouble,” Garrett started, but even she knew it was useless. She felt her palms itch just before the current reached her skin, and several small arcs of electricity webbed between her fingers. Garrett whipped his head around, expression deadly serious, “No, run home.” He quickly unsheathed his boot knives, looking back up at her for but a moment, “I mean it, Bethany.” 

She could see the fear on his face and, knowing it was for her, she let her lightening fizzle out as she darted back around the corner, pausing once she was out of sight. She leaned out around the corner to see Garrett spring out of the path of an arrow at the last second, lashing out with quick controlled jabs that seemed to be doing more to keep his assailants at bay than actually causing them any damage. Like hell she was going to run home.

She turned her focus inward, tapping into her mana as she summoned the mind rending fear and anguish she’d learned from the demons that had plagued her dreams for months. She could feel the echoes of pain from each nightmare, but she watched the dread coalesce in the forefront of her mind with the detached wonder she’d learned to hide behind. With a profane satisfaction, she zeroed her attention in on the archer that had just fired at her brother and unleashed an intangible hell scape in his mind. She watched his eyes widen as shadow creatures only he could see hurtled towards him. She could hear the keening wails and shrieks in his mind, but they affected her not.

The archer dropped to his knees, bow clattering to the ground uselessly as his hands gripped madly at face and head, ripping his hood off and tearing at his short cropped hair. A scream ripped from his throat, finally grabbing Garrett’s attention from the close combat he’d entered. Ever the opportunist, the dagger left Garrett’s off hand and embedded itself in the archer’s neck. Her brother danced away from the swordsmen to retrieve it before diving back into the fray of battle. 

Pulling at her mana arduously now, she probed at two of the swordsman's minds at once, replacing their rowdy confidence with visions of incorporeal creatures and bodily mutilation. One managed to keep his sword in hand, but he was now clutching it with a grip so shaky that Garrett was able to get past his defenses and take him down within seconds of the other. He turned on the last swordsman, who dropped his sword and ran.

Bethany exhaled, relaxing her focus as she caught her breath. She wrung her hands until they stopped shaking. Garrett seemed to recover much more quickly and was already over checking on the boy. He was sending the boy on his way with the promise that the child would go straight to his sisters and not stop for anyone or anything when Bethany reached him. 

Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose and quickly pulled back his bloody hand with disgust, glaring at the offending bodily fluid. “Ugh, not again.” He looked at Bethany, “Do I have blood on my face?”

She held hand up, index finger an inch from her thumb in helpful indication, “A bit.”

He sighed, “So, you’ve obviously learned some new tricks.”

She repeated the gesture, “A bit.”

He frowned down at his shoes and nodded. Then shook his head and put his hands on his hips. A moment later he nodded again and looked back up, hands still on his hips and frown persisting. “Okay. Alright, we’ll talk to this Bartrand in the morning. But no promises beyond that.”

Bethany tried not to look too excited as she failed to contain a beaming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting the hang of pacing a chaptered story, I apologize. Just a quick Bethany chapter before the gang gets together. Thanks for reading!


End file.
